


Deja Vu

by QueenCamellia



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Bridgette and Marinette are cousins, F/M, Felix and Adrien are brothers, Gen, Miraculous Ladybug 2D, Miraculous Ladybug PV, Miraculous Ladybug PV verse, Quantic Kids - Freeform, eyyy, pv verse + cartoon verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-04-04 19:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14027178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCamellia/pseuds/QueenCamellia
Summary: She has forgotten something. Something important...or, perhaps, someone important.Returning to Paris to visit her cousin, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Bridgette must retrace her past before it’s too late. After all, Hawk Moth isn’t the only villain in Paris. And with the reappearance of the ruthless Papillon, Ladybug and Chat Noir will need all the help they can get.(AKA: darker Miraculous Ladybug, PV verse + canon verse, Agreste bros, Quantic Kids)





	1. Your Name?

_ “And I can’t believe you’re finally visiting!” _

Bridgette laughs at her cousin’s gushing, the blatant adoration in the younger girl’s voice warming her heart. Drumming her fingers rhythmically on the glass table in front of her, she twirls her straw and takes a sip of her smoothie, observing the diversity of the passerby with mild interest. “It hasn’t been  _ that  _ long since I’ve returned to Paris,” she teases, nodding her head at the waiter when he sets down a check.

The exasperated noise that resounds from Marinette sounds like a cross between a sigh and a moan.  _ “Three years, Bridgette. I'm going to graduate collège this year, you know. You  _ are _ attending lycée pro here, right?” _

“Yes, yes,” Bridgette confirms, offering a smile at the waiter as he takes away her check.

_ “I honestly don’t understand why you need to, to be honest,”  _ Marinette admits, her voice ringing with sincerity that’s clear as day despite the horrible cellular reception in the area.  _ “I mean, you could’ve become a pro gymnast. Why’d you stop?” _

Bridgette’s answer is quick, having been used plenty of times.“I trained my body because Paris was facing troubled times while I was growing up and it was better to be safe than sorry.”

It’s not an excuse, per say, but she almost feels as if there’s some other reason why Bridgette practiced gymnastics and martial arts intensely in her youth. The reason is on the tip of her tongue, but the words don’t slip out. “Not all of us grew up with nice ol’ Hawk Moth, you know,” she teases. “Compared to Papillon, he’s a walk in the ballpark.”

_ “A...what?” _

“It’s a saying they use here in America,” Bridgette explains dismissively. “I guess it doesn’t translate that well into French, since nobody else pays attention to American baseball.  _ C’est du gâteau.  _ He’s a piece of cake.”

Marinette’s voice is indignant. “Hawk Moth  _ is _ dangerous.”

“He is, and I commend Paris’s new Ladybug and Chat Noir duo for handling him so effectively,” Bridgette agrees. “The fact that Paris doesn’t have to pay for property damage thanks to Ladybug’s Lucky Charm is absolutely amazing. But I’m glad that there aren’t any civilian casualties like Papillon. You probably don’t remember much, Mari, but living in Paris back then was... _ scary. _ Nobody knew where his akumas would pop up next.”

There’s a pause, then her cousin admits,  _ “I sometimes forget about that, you know.” _

“Those times?”

_ “The civilian casualties during Papillon’s reign. I guess Chat and...Ladybug should feel grateful that Hawk Moth’s akumas don’t kill any innocents.” _

For some reason, a heavy weight settles on Bridgette’s shoulders. “Well, it’s not as if Hawk Moth’s leniency is the only reason for Paris’s survival. Those two are doing a good job,” she says sincerely, a smile tugging at her lips.

_ “Really?” _

Bridgette frowns at the awed, almost giddy note in her cousin’s voice. “Yeah, Mari. Really. You like those two, right?”

_ “I...uh, I do. They’re amazing.”  _ Something about Marinette’s tone seems off, but her cousin hurriedly adds,  _ “I’ve gotta go. See you in a week, Bridgette!” _

“Take care of yourself, Mari,” Bridgette replies, shutting her phone and standing up. Strolling out of the cafe, she stares contemplatively at the dreary New York sky, a rainstorm imminent, and almost feels a bout of nostalgia overwhelm her. She exhales, her breath a warm puff of steam in the chilly morning air.

_ Paris, huh…? _

She sighs, passing by a poster with Felix and Adrien Agreste’s faces blatantly plastered next to the illustrious Agreste logo. It’s an advertisement for the newest Agreste clothing line: she’s been following the fashion magazines. Bridgette halts in her steps and pauses to observe the pair for a moment. There’s Parisian pride that surges through her: even across the Atlantic, the Agreste’s influence reaches far. But there’s also a flutter of... _ something else. _

She pivots on her heel, turning around and not paying the poster a second glance. She still has several drawers’ worth of clothing to pack, after all.

As Bridgette continues to stroll back to her apartment, she idly wonders why her chest aches so much.

* * *

 

“Pardon me, miss, but my seat is beside yours. Do you mind…?”

Bridgette gapes in surprise at the handsome figure standing in front of her, then hastily stands up and snatches her earphones out of her ears. “Go ahead,” she tells him, blushing as she almost stumbles over her bag in her haste to move into the aisleway. The man — boy, really: he looks the same age as her — smiles at her before giving her an abrupt look of disbelief.

“Bridgette?” he asks, “Bridgette Cheng, right?”

Bridgette’s about to ask how the handsome man knows her, but then she recognizes  _ him. _ Her mouth opens in a small ‘o’ shape as she scans him from head to toe. “Claude, right?” she blurts out, “Claude Haprele?”

His face breaks out into a large grin. “So you  _ do _ remember me,” he says, sliding into his seat and beckoning for her to do the same. As soon as they’re seated and their seatbelts are buckled, they engage in a rapid-pace conversation.

“I can’t  _ believe _ I’m meeting you here!”

“I can’t believe it, either! Can’t you think of the odds?” Claude laughs. “Imagine me telling our friends:  _ ‘hey guys, remember Bridgette? Yes, our Bridgette. Well, funny story — I happened to sit next to her on my flight back to Paris.’  _ Allegra would freak.”

At the mention of Allegra Bourgeois, Bridgette brightens. “How is she? I lost contact with everyone once I moved overseas.”

“She’s still playing the flute,” Claude answers noncommittally, which really doesn’t answer Bridgette’s crucial question.

“And are you two  _ dating,  _ yet?” she persists, remembering Allegra’s gentle countenance (a blatant contrast to her cousin’s childish obnoxiousness) and Claude’s energetic nature.

Claude chokes on air.  _ “No,” _ he answers emphatically, shooting her a glare. “Why would you think that?”

“You owe me for not informing me about your trip here,” Bridgette sniffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“New York was just a layover: I was coming back from Hawaii,” he explains.

“Ahh, so then…” Bridgette struggles to recall her old friend’s other companions. Although she had always gotten along with Claude and Allegra, Bridgette had mostly stuck to herself. “Have you gotten together with  _ Felix,  _ then?”

Claude chokes again.  _ “Bridgette?” _ he squeaks. “Is that even  _ you?” _

“Is there something wrong with me?” Bridgette frowns.

“No, it’s just…” Claude trails off, but Bridgette’s stern look and his impatient, talkative nature makes him blurt out, “You used to be so... _ obsessed _ with Felix, you know? Like, you wouldn’t even  _ joke _ about him getting together with other people. Hell, you waited several hours for his photoshoot to end just to give him Valentine’s day chocolates.”

Ah, yes. One of the dark, dark moments of Bridgette’s youth. She likes to think she’s past that level of desperate immaturity, but she still has her moments.

“Felix was always your friend. Maybe Allan’s friend, too, but he never really showed any interest in Allegra nor I.” Seeing Claude’s skeptical look at her lack of an answer, she admits, “I  _ was _ head over heels for him, but...I just...got over it...”

Now that she thinks about it, it’s hard to recall Felix other than her horrendous attempts at confessing to him. She can’t blame him for dismissing her so easily: she was embarrassed as  _ hell _ about how irritating and pushy her past self was. Her intentions had been pure and simple, but her method of execution wasn’t really...the best and was bothersome for both parties.

But other than her confession attempts, she barely remembers the elder Agreste. He had been cold, the “marble man” as she dubbed him in the past. She’d meant for the epithet to be a compliment, but looking back at it, it seems rather insulting. And only partially fitting — she’s  _ seen _ him laugh and interact with  _ Claude,  _ after all.

There’s something else that nags at Bridgette’s brain, something  _ important _ about Felix Agreste _ ,  _ but Claude launches into a story of his and Allan’s escapades and the thought slips away.

* * *

 

_ “Bridgeeeeeeeette!” _

Thanks to Marinette’s unholy, high-pitched screech, Bridgette is prepared when her cousin flies into her arms, almost knocking her off balance from the sheer force of their impact. “Mari,” she murmurs affectionately, patting her cousin’s back and drawing her closer for a proper embrace. “You’ve grown.”

“Not  _ that _ much,” Marinette laughs.

“You have,” Bridgette disagrees, drawing back and observing her cousin with a critical eye. Something about Marinette has changed, whether it be her posture or overall confidence. Her cousin had always been a sweet, albeit shy and introverted girl, but now there’s little traces of the timid cousin she remembers. “Has Chloe been giving you trouble?”

At the mention of the Bourgeois, Marinette frowns. “Why’d you have to bring  _ her _ up?” she complains.

“So she  _ has _ been,” Bridgette concludes. “I’ll talk to Allegra about her, I guess. Her cousin used to be so sweet…Chloe must’ve taken her mother’s death harder than I thought…”

“There’s no need,” Marinette says hastily, waving her hands desperately. “I mean, I have friends now: it’s not so bad. And one of them is super handsome and perfect and kind and smart and—”

There’s something oddly reminiscent about how her Mari rambles about this friend of hers, and Bridgette feels Claude step forward to stand beside her. “She reminds me of  _ you _ talking about Felix,” he snickers.

Marinette pauses mid-rant, tilting her head at Claude. “Felix...Felix Agreste? He’s my friend’s brother.”

“Your friend is  _ Adrien Agreste?” _ Bridgette can’t help but ask incredulously.

“Yeah! He’s super sweet and kind and—”

Before her cousin can turn into a complete tomato, Bridgette holds up a hand to stop her. “Okay, okay. We get it,” she laughs, allowing her cousin to calm down. Bridgette pauses, them gestures at her irritatingly tall friend. “Mari, I don’t know if you remember my friend Claude, but here he is. I think one of his cousins is in your class. Marilyn?”

“Mylene,” Claude corrects. “She’s a sweet kid. She’s sort of scared to enter lycée, but I’d say we all are. You’re staying here permanently, right?” He directs his question to Bridgette.

“What? Oh, yes,” she confirms. “My father’s still working in New York, but he allowed me to come to Paris to attend lycée pro. I’m studying to be a fashion designer. Mari, do you still design things?”

Marinette grins brightly, offering her sketchbook. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t want my cousin’s hard work in training me to go to waste, you know.”

Bridgette’s eyebrows rise higher and higher as she flips through the sketchbook page by page in impressed silence. Claude looks at it over her shoulder and whistles in appreciation. “Your cousin’s  _ good,” _ he tells her. “You’d better step up your game.”

“Please,” Bridgette sniffs in a faux-haughty tone. For good measure, she adds a hairflip. “Mari may be good, but I’m still convinced she’s destined to become a professional gamer someday.”

“I  _ did _ enter a gaming competition last year…”

Bridgette’s sharp ears immediately catch her cousin’s mumble and she  _ squeals.  _ “Oh, Mari...I knew you could do it!”

“It was for school!”

Bridgette laughs, and all seems well for a moment. Then there’s screams and Marinette curses. “Akuma attack,” she deduces quickly, grabbing Bridgette and Claude. “Y...we need to head to safety. Chat Noir and Ladybug should be here, soon. I’ve gotta find my friend: she’s the one who drove me here since Papa and Mama had to watch the bakery.”

Her cousin’s expression, although panicked, doesn’t hold the same grimness of Parisians in the past when discovering an akuma attack. Akuma attacks from Hawk Moth were private affairs between the victim, superhero duo, and cause. 

Akuma attacks from Papillon, on the other hand, were essentially terrorist attacks that unreservedly killed civilians.

Bridgette forces her tense frame to relax ever-so-slightly, and nods. “C’mon, Claude. Mari, stay safe.”

Marinette flashes her a bright smile. “Of course,” she answers, then the bluenette takes off.

* * *

 

Bridgette Cheng’s first re-encounter with Felix Agreste is rather anticlimactic.

She’s walking along the sidewalk, licking her cone of vanilla ice cream, when she passes by the park. There’s a large amount of people crowding the entrance, which piques her curiosity. When she manages to push her way through the crowd (thanks to years of practice as a fangirl of popular models), she sees golden hair and gray eyes.

Felix looks relatively well. He’s not flushed with life or any sort of cliche (he always had a rather pallid skin tone), but the smile on his face doesn’t seem completely fake. Standing next to a similarly gorgeous boy with golden hair, undoubtedly Adrien Agreste, Felix looks  _ content. _ Happy is too much of a stretch, but  _ content:  _ yes, she can see that her former classmate is perfectly fine with modeling before a crowd of onlookers because he’s standing next to his beloved younger brother.

She stares at the scene with mild interest for a bit. After all, it’s been awhile since she’s seen a photoshoot. Then, right when she turns around, intending to walk away, someone calls out, “Marinette?”

Bridgette turns around and gives Adrien Agreste an inquisitive look. The younger boy blushes and stammers, “S-sorry, you sort of looked like a friend of mine…”

Bridgette has no time to answer before Felix speaks up. 

_ “Bridgette?” _ His tone is incredulous, but there’s a hint of some other emotion she can’t quite identify as well.

She’s not sure what sort of expression she’s wearing...or what kind of expression she  _ should _ be wearing. With a sort of lopsided grin, she turns to the elder model and rubs the back of her neck awkwardly. “Hello, Felix,” she says softly. They both nod at each other before resuming their business. He has to get back to work, and she has better things to do than gawk at a photoshoot for another hour. Bridgette turns around and marches out of the park, only half aware of the discussions going on behind her.

_ (“Who was that, Fe?”) _

_ (“An old classmate.”) _

_ (“You  _ never _ interrupt photoshoots for  _ anyone. _ And why did she look like Marinette?”) _

_ (“They’re probably relatives. Now, shut up and get back to work, Adrien.”) _

_ (“But,  _ Fe _ —”) _


	2. legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to her cousin's machinations, she meets Felix again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I exist.

Bridgette loves Marinette. She really does: the girl is practically her little sister, considering how often they played together when she was younger. But over the past three years of separation, she’s forgotten how  _ pushy _ Mari can be when she wants to.

_ “Pleaaaase,  _ Bridgette?”

Bridgette exhales, reminding herself to keep her temper in check. “For the last time, Mari:  _ no. _ My classes start tomorrow and I need to prepare for them.”

“B-but,  _ Adrien  _ asked me. Bridgette, this is the  _ first time _ Adrien’s singled me out for any kind of outing! It’s always Alya or I doing the inviting, or sometimes even Nino.” Marinette’s plea tumbles out of her mouth in a torrent of bumbling nonsense. Fortunately, Bridgette is used to her cousin’s exuberance. 

Marinette must’ve noticed her reluctant look, for she amps up her argument. “C’mon, if you won’t do it for his brother, do it for  _ me? _ Pretty please?” 

Bridgette winces, then turns around in her swivel chair and gives her cousin a disappointed look. “Mari, you did _not_ just play that card.”  
“I’m desperate!”

“Why does Felix want to meet me again, anyways?” Bridgette asks exasperatedly, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing. “I was nothing but a nuisance to him in the past.”

“Maybe he thinks differently?” Marinette offers, shrugging her shoulders. Then, she latches onto Bridgette’s arm.  “Anyways,  _ pleeeease? _ I’m not saying you have to become best buddies with him or anything, but it’d be really cool to spend the day with Adrien…hehe...a day...with Adrien…”

“I’ll do it,” Bridgette acquiesces, interrupting her cousin’s fantasies before they can get too outlandish. “But in exchange, you’re getting me a ticket to the next Agreste fashion show.”

Marinette squeaks and flounders uselessly for several seconds. “B-Bridgette, those tickets are super expensive!”

“Then use your time with your friend Adrien wisely,” Bridgette coos, ruffling her cousin’s hair. Maybe this can give Marinette enough motivation to speak properly around the model. 

Bridgette continues working until her cousin leaves with a promise to come back in the evening, then quickly runs to her closet and begins rummaging through her clothes. She’s not  _ excited _ for the outing, thank you very much, but she should look at least  _ presentable _ to the heirs of Paris’s elite fashion company. Her pride as a designer will allow her nothing less.

Bridgette and Marinette’s meet-up with Adrien and Felix Agreste is possibly one of the most awkward encounters Bridgette’s ever experienced.

They’re standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, dressed in clothing appropriate for a late autumn evening when the Agreste brothers accost them. Bridgette feels...oddly nostalgic when she catches sight of Felix, a green muffler wrapped around his neck and his hands shoved sullenly in his pockets.

“A-Adrien!” Marinette squeaks, blushing at the sight of her crush. The newly-turned fifteen years old stumbles over her words. “You are how? I mean, are you how? I mean...how you are?”

Bridgette decides to rescue her pitiful cousin and sets a placating hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Felix, nice to see you again,” she says, voice lilting ever so softly. “And I presume this is Adrien?”

Felix nods and elaborates, “My little brother.”

Adrien beams, his smile radiating innocence and cheerful kindness. Bridgette decides in this moment that she will  _ protect _ this precious child with her life. “Nice to meet you, Miss Bridgette! Fe’s told me a lot about you.”

_ What has he told you?  _ Bridgette idly wonders. How she filled his locker with roses? Or perhaps the time when she stalked him from photoshoot to photoshoot until he finally called his bodyguards on her? “All great things, I presume,” she says with a smile, accepting Adrien’s proffered hand and sending a cheeky warning glare at Felix. “The pleasure is all mine, Adrien. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend to Marinette.”

“No, no. Marinette’s a wonderful friend to  _ me,” _ Adrien emphasizes, unaware of the effect his words have on her cousin. Marinette turns a lovely shade of red, then proceeds to choke on air. Bridgette calmly reaches around her cousin’s shoulders and gives her a firm pat on the back, finally drawing Adrien’s notice to the girl. “Marinette, are you okay?” he panics.

“F-fine,” Marinette manages, turning redder. Bridgette decides to leave her cousin and crush to their own devices, instead turning to face Felix.

“Long time no see, I guess,” she laughs breathily. Her eyes ask unspoken questions.

“You…” Felix pauses, looking almost  _ hesitant. _ It’s  _ weird:  _ Felix Agreste is always calm, cool, and collected. Seeing her former classmate so thrown off is slightly disconcerting. “How much do you remember?”

Bridgette blinks. Then, she tilts her head, something in her mind buzzing. “Remember?” she echoes. “About our school days? I mean, to be honest, stalking you wasn’t one of my proudest moments, but I certainly can’t  _ forget _ those times.”

Felix looks...resigned. There’s something _painful_ that flickers in his eyes for a moment, and Bridgette feels the strangest urge to cup his face with her hands to comfort him. She shakes off the instinct immediately: god _damn_ it, she is not going to turn into a fangirl again just because drop-dead gorgeous Felix Agreste is standing before her. “You certainly were _different,”_ Felix says, his voice lined with something that can pass as humor. “Very persistent.”  
Bridgette _moans,_ cheeks burning. “Don’t remind me.”

“You’ve changed,” Felix comments, his eyes seemingly piercing through her very soul. He has always worn that look, perceptive and contemplative, but this is the first time that he looks at  _ Bridgette _ with those eyes. Before, he saw her as...nothing more than an annoying girl. He pauses, then asks hesitantly, “You really don’t...remember Papillon?”

Bridgette’s smile wavers. “I do remember those darker times, if that’s what you mean. How could I forget? Especially after Claude’s brother...”

Felix winces, as if their friend’s brother’s death is something personally offensive. In a way, it is. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget,” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “The new Ladybug and Chat Noir have so many new powers. Could you imagine how much Ladybug’s Miraculous Ladybug cure could’ve helped back then?”

“I would’ve given  _ anything _ for that,” Bridgette agrees absentmindedly. Then, she blinks in surprise and corrects herself, “I would’ve given anything for  _ her _ to have that, I mean.”

_ Huh, strange. _

Felix gives her an amused, knowing look, almost as if he knows something about her that she doesn’t. Bridgette tilts her head, but before she can voice her question, Felix cuts her off.

“To dinner?” he suggests, glancing at an oblivious Adrien and still blushing Marinette. “We should probably interfere before your cousin spontaneously combusts of embarrassment.”

“Good idea,” Bridgette laughs. It’s strange how familiar their banter feels to her, but Bridgette chalks it up to their now agreeable personalities. She wonders if they could’ve been friends years ago if she didn’t have that stupidly embarrassing fangirl crush on him.

Alright, so maybe some of that is a lie. Originally, Bridgette had been attracted to Felix because of his looks: she had followed the Agreste line reverently for  _ years,  _ which had inspired her interest in designing clothes. But once she started to learn more about her taciturn classmate, Bridgette fell head over heels for  _ real.  _ Despite his dismissive attitude to fangirls, the Felix of her youth had always been courteous and even  _ kind _ to others; most of his abrasiveness stemmed from his inability to socialize rather than actual antipathy.

It’s strange, though, to have such kindness directed towards her. Bridgette suddenly regrets all of the opportunities she wasted in the past: she could have been  _ better.  _ They could have been  _ friends  _ if she had just  _ reached out _ and proved herself to be more than just a fangirl.

Bridgette exhales, closing her eyes and allowing the frustration to seep from her body. 

They all walk to a nearby restaurant, where waiters are already awaiting their arrival. No doubt, the Agreste brothers’ name had garnered the manager’s attention, for as soon as they walk through the doors, they are whisked away to a table. Bridgette can’t help but giggle as she sits down beside Marinette, sitting directly across from Felix. Her amusement isn’t missed by the perceptive blonde.

“Something the matter?” Felix inquires, his stormy grey eyes searching hers.

“A few years ago, I would’ve given  _ anything _ for the chance to sit across from you at a place like this,” Bridgette confides in him before she can stop herself. She blushes, in spite of herself, but plows on. “I’m sorry for always being so annoying.”

“You weren’t…” Felix searches for the right word. “You weren’t  _ annoying.  _ Persistent and inconvenient, maybe, but never...annoying.”

“That’s good to know,” she says conversationally.

A smile tugs on his lips, and suddenly Bridgette can’t  _ breathe.  _ She  _ knows _ that Felix is gorgeous when he smiles: he’s a model. He has to look perfect. But something about this smile right now is different from the one she sees plastered on billboards and plasters; it’s a smile solely directed to  _ her,  _ his dimples popping and stormy grey eyes softening in a way that makes her heart thump faster _.  _ She’s never seen this smile before, but it feels oddly familiar.

Felix is oblivious to her inner turmoil. “How was America?”

Bridgette shrugs. “Fun? The people there are a lot more opinionated: our frequent debates did wonders for my public speaking skills. Ooh, and I’m pretty sure I can beat you in English, now,  _ monsieur,”  _ she declares airily.

Felix smirks, fire lighting within his glacial orbs. “We’ll see about that,  _ mademoiselle.  _ You might find yourself struggling to keep up.”

They stare at each other for a long moment before Adrien coughs, breaking the moment. “Fe, I know it’s been a long time since you’ve had real human contact, but I’m pretty sure the waiters are getting antsy.”

“They’re already being paid; they have no  _ reason _ to be so impatient,” Felix retorts, his eyes fixed on his brother. Bridgette takes a moment to remind herself that she is twenty years old, does not have a crush on Felix Agreste, and should act like the independent young woman she had grown to be, not some giggling schoolgirl with a shallow crush. (Bridgette’s infatuation with Felix had never been as shallow as his fangirls’, though. She knows this well: her younger self had fallen in love with the boy who stepped out of the limousine to rush an injured cat to the vet, not the cool, silent heartthrob of the Agreste corporation.)

Just out of curiosity, she glances to the side and sees Marinette  _ grinning _ at her like a madman, her bluebell eyes practically sparkling. Bridgette can only assume what sort of elaborate nonsense her cousin’s concocted in that brain of hers.  _ Oh, brother. _

(Dinner goes fairly well, although Bridgette is fully aware that Mari is simultaneously drilling holes in her head  _ and _ staring at Adrien at the same time; it’s a wondrous talent that Bridgette herself had developed back in her fangirl days.)

(At the end of the dinner, Felix hands her his business card, telling her that he’d like to see her again sometime, and Bridgette is left in a daze wondering whether or not he meant as a date or as a potential business client -- just in case, she had given her own card to him in return. In all honesty, she wouldn’t mind either prospect, which is why she saves his number.)

(She tries to convince herself that she’s mainly doing this for her career, but Bridgette  _ knows _ that a tiny part of her heart is fluttering at the prospect of talking to Felix like they had during that dinner again.)

* * *

“So,  _ Felix,  _ eh?”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ start, Mari.”

* * *

 

“You seemed pretty happy today, Fe!”

_ “Adrien.” _

“Aw, come on. Don’t just  _ Adrien _ me like Dad.”

* * *

 

It’s  _ frustrating. _

There’s something she’s missing, something she’s forgetting. Bridgette catches little glimpses of this elusive memory when she subconsciously reaches for her earrings. It’s  _ weird:  _ why the hell would she imagine some random red stuffed animal? Just in case, Bridgette had searched through her things to see if she still had the stuffed toy, but to no avail.

Bridgette sets aside the inkling of frustration for more productive feelings of determination. She calls Alegra, her best friend, to schedule a meetup and advise her to look after her little sister. Chloe Bourgeois has the potential to be one of Marinette’s friends, but she’ll need guidance, after all. 

Then, she sits down and begins working on a new costume design for a freelance costume designing contest.

Bridgette has made decent progress with her sketch when she notices a disturbance going on in the streets. Peering out of the window, her eyes widen when she spots a garishly dressed woman declaring herself the princess of Paris.

_ It’s an akuma. _

Immediately, terror runs through Bridgette’s veins. She feels panic invading her senses, but rationality wins and Bridgette reminds herself to take deep breaths and calm down. These akumas aren’t like the ones from her past...they’re mostly harmless. She’ll be fine. Her aunt and uncle will be fine.  _ Marinette _ will be fine.

She watches from her window as Ladybug and Chat Noir arrive on the scene. Their teamwork is flawless, and Ladybug devises a masterful creative plan within minutes involving a metal pipe, string, and balloons to take down the akuma. It’s almost... _ disheartening _ to see how fast the pair purify the akuma. Bridgette wonders if things would’ve been different if...if  _ her _ Ladybug and Chat Noir had the same powers.

There’s no use in crying over spilt milk, though, so Bridgette returns back to work.

* * *

 

Bridgette wakes up sobbing.

_ “NO!”  _ she gasps, lurching forward and desperately reaching for a phantom hand. Sobs wreak her body as Bridgette struggles to regain mastery of her emotions _.  _ Instead, what tumbles out of her mouth is a series of pleas. “No, no...I’m sorry...I wasn’t strong enough…please...forgive me...”

She doesn’t understand why she’s crying, which makes it all the more worse. Tears run down her cheeks as she struggles to _ breathe, _ her chest heaving with effort as she lets out small, frantic gasps of panic. “Wh-what w-was that?” she hiccups, the heavy burden of  _ guilt _ weighing down on her shoulders. It’s  _ suffocating. _

_ Get your act together, Bridgette,  _ she tells herself firmly, but she can’t control the involuntary sobs that rise to her throat as another wave of  _ grief, sadness, and angerangeranger  _ hit her as hard as a tidal wave. She faintly registers that she is probably having a panic attack, but can’t bring herself to care, lowering herself shakily to her pillow and curling in a ball. It feels as if the world is slowly enclosing upon her.

This feels like how she felt when she first learned that one of her classmates died; only, somehow, it feels a hundred times worse.

Her hand trembles and she reaches for her phone. At the last moment, she hesitates, drawing back. The last time she had a panic attack was two years ago, back when she still kept in semi-contact with Allegra. Bridgette doesn’t want her first call to her estranged best friend to be like this, even though she knows that the elder Bourgeois wouldn’t mind.

As if preordained, her phone lets out a small “ping!” before she sets it down. Bridgette can’t help but glance at the screen.

**Felix [2:47]: Will you be attending Institut Français de la Mode?**

_ Why?  _ She wants to type. Instead, she reciprocates his somewhat formal diction.

**Bridgette [2:47]: Yes, I will. Is there a reason why you’re up so late, Felix?**

**Felix [2:48]: Paperwork. And you?**

**Bridgette [2:48]: I guess I still haven’t adjusted to the timezone difference ^^**

Bridgette waits, but there is no immediate response. Shrugging, she sets down her phone and lies down. It takes her several minutes before she realizes that her panic attack has subsided, but when she finally notices her breathing has evened, Bridgette is immensely grateful. Maybe she should make something for Felix in thanks and pass it off as a “nice to reconnect with you!” gift. Considering how he tolerated her during the dinner, it’s likely that he’ll actually accept the gesture this time.

Her phone eventually lights up again, and Bridgette unabashedly rises from her sleeping position and lunges for the phone, nearly dropping it in the process. Her eyes move across the screen; slowly, a small smile forms on her face.

**Felix [2:52]: It gets better over time.**

**Bridgette [2:52]: I hope so :) Thanks, Felix.**

Barely a second passes before Felix replies.

**Felix [2:53]: Always, for you.**

* * *

 

Today is Bridgette’s first day of school and all she can think of are those words, reciting over and over in her mind like a mantra.

_ Always, for you. Always, for you. Always, for you. _

It wasn’t  _ “anytime.”  _ It wasn’t  _ “you’re welcome.”  _ It wasn’t even a simple “ _ no problem.” _

_ Always, for you. _

“Gahh, Bridgette, stop being stupid!” she huffs, smacking herself with her textbook. The action attracts plenty of weird looks, but Bridgette is used to drawing attention due to her spontaneous personality and pays them no heed. She straightens her back, eyes blazing with confidence as she continues her pep talk. “Okay, I can do this. Make friends. Make connections. Learn. Help others. Alright. I got this. I can  _ do  _ this.”

And then, Bridgette slams into a pole face-first.

“I can do this,” she repeats again, extracting herself from aforementioned pole and marching forward confidently.

She enters the classroom and almost stumbles over her own feet when she recognizes the three figures sitting towards the front. “Allan? Allegra?  _ Claude?” _

_ “AAAHH, IT’S A GHOST OF THE PAST!”  _ Allan exclaims, pointing at her dramatically.

“Bridgette!” Allegra greets, smiling brightly, looking like the epitome of feminine grace. She rises from her seat. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

“Hey, Bridgette,” Claude acknowledges, smiling. “I should’ve known you’d come here after our last conversation. Still keeping up with fashion, then?”

“Of  _ course,”  _ Bridgette sniffs, throwing her head in the air pompously. “What do you take me for,  _ monsieur?” _

“An airhead,” all three of her former classmates answer immediately.

“Hey!” Bridgette protests, pouting. “Our first time seeing each other in  _ five years _ and all you have are insults for me?”

“We video chatted all the time two years ago,” Allegra dismisses. She doesn’t look too bothered by their loss of contact: her best friend had always been practical. Both of them had been too overwhelmed with their studies and new lives to coordinate Skype calls in different time zones. Even so, Bridgette is surprised that the warm look in her friend’s eyes is unchanged. Something inside of her chest warms. “Close enough.”

“I can’t believe you all decided to come here, though…” Bridgette murmurs, taking a seat beside Allegra. Claude graciously shuffled away to sit beside Allan.

“I always wanted to teach music, Claude’s into art, and Allan’s interested in music editing. We’re all just as artistic as you, Bridgette, just in different ways,” Allegra explains, shrugging. “And we all have high grades, so it’s only logical we’d end up here. This class is a requirement for nearly all of the majors, after all.”

“Say, the whole gang’s here, then! The Quantic Kids!” Allan points out, grinning.

Everyone rolls their eyes at the lame nickname. “Felix isn’t,” Claude points out. “He  _ hasn’t _ been hanging around the ‘gang’ for awhile now. The guy just occasionally responds to my texts.”

Claude’s tone isn’t bitter, necessarily, but perhaps a bit resigned. After Gabriel Agreste pulled Felix out of public school, fearing Papillon’s attacks, Claude had never been the same. For all of his chilly demeanor, Felix had been Claude’s best friend, after all.

Allan gives him a confused look, then glances at Bridgette and Allegra. “Wait, do none of you know?”

“Know?” Bridgette echoes.

“Fe’s attending this school for fashion,” Allan explains. “He said it was to prepare him more as the successor of the Agreste company, but I think he’s just starved for social interaction.”

There’s an exhilarating moment of silence, then small smiles worm their ways on everyone’s faces. Bridgette basks in this feeling of camaraderie; though she established other friendships in America, nothing came close to the unusually close bonds she shared with the “Quantic Kids.”

“Makes sense,” Allegra murmurs, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lips tug upwards. “The poor guy was forced to be homeschooled during Papillon’s second year of terror, huh?”

At the mention of the dangerous supervillain, they all fall silent, particularly Claude. A melancholic curtain seems to fall upon them, one of grief and silent mourning.

Allegra blinks, then blushes when she realizes her social gaffe. “Shoot, I’m sorry, Claude!” she apologizes quickly, biting her lip. Her hands are shoved deep in her pockets, but Bridgette can tell that her best friend is trying not to reach out and offer the boy a physical gesture of comfort. “That was insensitive of me…”

“It’s fine...my brother wouldn’t want me brooding and mourning him all the time, you know,” Claude laughs bittersweetly. “Even so...God, sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I was there. Maybe I could have helped. Maybe I could’ve done something. Maybe I could’ve  _ saved him. _ ”

“Even  _ Ladybug _ couldn’t save him in time, Claude,” Allegra says gently, throwing away any reservations and placing a gentle, comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. He wouldn’t want you to, either.”

“Yeah…”

There’s a suspicious lump in Bridgette’s throat. “I missed you guys,” she blurts out.

They glance at her, then break into laughter at her abrupt comment. The melancholic atmosphere is washed away by the randomness (and sapiness) of Bridgette’s comment and their laughter; she can’t even bring herself to protest how they are laughing at her expense. She just...savors the sound of their laughter. “We missed you, too, Bridgette,” Allan confides.

All is well, and Bridgette just  _ basks _ in the feeling of bantering and laughing amongst friends. 

Then, Felix Agreste enters the classroom, his arrival marked by feminine squeals. 

The students immediately silence when he glances around the classroom until his eyes finally land on their group. With controlled, dignified steps, he approaches them and sits beside Claude.

It’s still silent.

“Well? Get on with your lives,” Felix says, glaring at their peers until everyone acquiesces and begins talking again. He turns to them and undoubtedly sees their grins.  _ “What?”  _ he demands.

“Oh, Felix,” Bridgette laughs, her smile brighter than it has been for  _ ages. _

“We missed you too, bud,” Claude says, punching the model in the arm.

“Hey, you’re reusing  _ my _ words,” Allan protests.

“Well--”

Bridgette’s eyes trail back to Felix, and she nearly does a double take. The blonde is watching their bickering classmates  _ (friends)  _ with fond eyes, his posture relaxed and lips barely curled upwards into a smile. (So he  _ did _ miss them.)

Bridgette can’t help but smile with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psst, the Quantic Kids don't play a huuuuuge role in the story, so dw if you haven't acclimated yourself to their names ;P
> 
> Feel free to drop a review if you have time! ^^


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